


Misplaced

by uumuu



Series: To Fall Into Place [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Half-Sibling Incest, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Orgasm Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 12:43:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4138008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fëanor and Fingolfin aren't picky about where they have sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misplaced

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the same verse as 'Thy due place, and an audience'. Fills the 'places' square in my Season of Kink card.

The sound of slamming doors was a faithful indicator of Carnistir's rage. Depending on how loud they slammed, and how many of them suffered the harsh treatment, it was easy to pinpoint exactly how angry Carnistir was. On that particular occasion, the noise progressed from the kitchen through the dining room and two passageways to the hall. Curufinwë, who happened to be in the parlour, peered into it in time to see him grasp the handle of the front door.

“Moryo, what's wrong?”

Carnistir's lips were pursed, and when he turned towards his brother, he looked mortified more than angry. “I'm leaving.”

“Why?”

“I won't eat in this house ever again until I have personally cleaned the kitchen inside out.”

Curufinwë blinked, somewhat bemused. “What happened in the kitchen?” 

“Go and see for yourself!” was Carnistir's bellowed reply.

The front door was thankfully sturdy, and endured in one piece after Carnistir kicked it shut. Curufinwë hurried to the window, from where he saw his brother cross the garden and fumble with the gate. After Carnistir had disappeared behind the tall hedge that surrounded it, Curufinwë decided to head to the kitchen. Carnistir's final words had given him a fairly accurate idea of what might have upset him there, but it didn't hurt to check.

The moans and groans filtering through the door confirmed his suspicions before he opened it. Two pairs of eyes turned towards him, and he had a hard time suppressing a smile.

He calmly entered, as if nothing out of the ordinary was transpiring in the kitchen, as if Ñolofinwë wasn't lying naked on the table with his legs spread wide, and his father wasn't standing between them and fucking him.

Fëanáro asked him a silent question.

“Moryo said he won't eat in this house 'ever again' until he has cleaned the kitchen himself,” Curufinwë said, “I came to...investigate what had upset him so.”

Fëanáro quirked one eyebrow, bared his teeth, and laughed. 

At the sound of his father's laughter, Curufinwë could no longer hide his smile. Ñolofinwë too loved that sound. His ears drank it like the sweetest nectar, and the rest of his body delighted in the vibrations it sent to the spot where Fëanáro and he were joined.

“I-...I thought I had heard the door click open,” Fëanáro said as soon as he calmed down. “Poor Moryo, I'll make it up to him later.”

“I confess I was puzzled at first.” Curufinwë and his brothers had seen their father and Ñolofinwë fuck in several locations throughout the garden, and in a good number of the rooms, including one memorable time when Ñolofinwë had been bent tied to the railing of the main staircase. He wondered how he could not have guessed right away. 

“Since you're here, can you please take the pot from the stove and put out the fire?”

Curufinwë nodded, and moved towards the cooking area. 

Fëanáro lowered his eyes back to Ñolofinwë, and his thrusts picked up again. 

Ñolofinwë tightened his grip on the edge of the table, feeling the pleasure they dealt even more keenly with the added stimulus of having a spectator. 

He was deeply thankful that Fëanáro's sons had accepted his relationship with their father without protest. He had been afraid their hard-gained intimacy had driven Nerdanel away, but Fëanáro had assured him that their marriage had cooled off and withered up well before the twins' fiftieth begetting day, and the sons' largely unperturbed reactions upon her leaving had confirmed their father's assertion. The circumstance had made him appreciate even more how Anairë had encouraged him to satisfy his desire (his greatest dream now was to have both his wife and his brother fuck him at the same time). 

Curufinwë had in the meanwhile lifted the lid off the pot, so that the pungent smell of cumin and ginger wafted into the room.

“Smells delicious,” he said.

“It's our dinner...though my demanding brother prefers other delights, doesn't he?” Fëanáro teased. 

Ñolofinwë automatically nodded.

Fëanáro abruptly stopped, however, and withdrew from him. 

He looked around, and his eyes fell on the chair he had pulled to one side to allow Ñolofinwë to lie on the table. He sat down on it, his glistening cock standing against his still clothed stomach.

“Come,” he commanded.

Ñolofinwë promptly slid off the table, wincing slightly at the dull (but all too welcome) ache in his ass, and made to straddle him.

Fëanáro shook his head. “The other way.”

Ñolofinwë obediently turned around, squatting over Fëanáro's legs with his back to him, and facing Curufinwë. He grasped the edge of the table for balance with one hand, and lowered himself back onto Fëanáro's erection.

Fëanáro's hands came to rest on his hips as he began to fuck himself on it. 

“One day I shall sit on the throne and have you skewered on my cock in front of the whole court, wearing nothing but the gems I will string around your neck -” Fëanáro moved his hands up, his fingers fluttering over Ñolofinwë's neck, causing him to arch to get more of the touch “- and around your waist.” The hands glided down, skimming over his belly, then grazing it with his nails. “I wonder what they would think...to see their beloved prince in such a shameless display.” His right hand took hold of Ñolofinwë's bobbing cock. “I could even put a tiny dainty stud here,” he purred, pushing a finger against the slit. 

Fëanáro's words could have sent Ñolofinwë in frenzy of pleasure on their own – just making him think of so many eyes on him – and were all the more fierce then, with his cock already inside him – sliding, stroking – his breath ghosting over his back, and his slightly leaner face looking at him from across the table. 

Fëanáro felt the tension build up in him. 

“Don't come.”

It was a trenchant command. Ñolofinwë gasped and his body shuddered violently, causing him to wriggle around Fëanáro's cock. It took all his willpower not to come. Fëanáro made his effort harder by laying a kiss to the middle of his back, then trailing his tongue up and down his spine, quickly, to underscore every spasm of his curtailed release until it died down.

“Good. We don't want to sully the kitchen.”

Fëanáro's hands clenched around his hips again, and held him in place while he shot his seed far up his ass. When he was done, he slapped Ñolofinwë's buttocks, and Ñolofinwë eased himself off of him.

“Go to my room, and wait for me there.”

Ñolofinwë nodded, and shuffled out of the room.

Fëanáro readjusted his clothing and turned to his son. 

“Sorry for the...inconvenience.”

Curufinwë shrugged. “When did he get here?”

“Soon after I began cooking...demanded to be fucked in his superbly composed manner,” Fëanáro chuckled. “Well, I guess I must go looking for Moryo now. Would you mind cleaning up here?”


End file.
